Maid Service (14 page)

“You fucking bitch!” Violet spat, but she made no effort to stop them as Peter began to push, prying the head of his cock into her bottom. “You fucking little bitch, Karen!”

Karen merely laughed, now stroking whatever length of Peter's shaft wasn't buried in her friend's anus, before issuing another sharp instruction.

“Suck his balls, Sophie. Now, in your mouth. Do it, bitch!”

Sophie hesitated, but quickly gave in, opening her mouth to take in Peter's balls as he continued to fuck Violet, while Karen stroked ever faster at what little of his shaft remained exposed. Violet had begun to sob and gasp, still calling Karen a bitch, despite the fact that it was Peter who's cock violated the velvet clutch of her tunnel. Her hand went back and she masturbated as he fucked, her face dipping between Sophie's thighs so that she was licking cunt the same time. Overloaded with lust, and with the tables well and truly turned on her, Violet brought herself to orgasm in a welter of shame and degradation. The feel of her anal canal tightening on his cock was too much for Peter to bear, and he came too, emptying the sticky sap from his heavy balls deep into her rectum and holding himself there until Sophie finally cried out as she too was brought to orgasm, allowing him a final moment of triumphant reflection. For, as the heady haze of orgasm cleared, he realized that for the first time in his life he'd sodomized two girls in one day.

As he reached the center of Westminster Bridge, Peter paused to gaze reflectively into the gray-green waters of the Thames below. A week had passed since the raid on Club S and the situation had grown increasingly awkward and frustrating. Not daring to contact the venue manager, he wasn't even sure whether or not the prosecution was going ahead, while the irascible Master Jacobaeus was trying to organize a protest march and a picket of the police station where he'd been held. Peter felt it was far more sensible to let things blow over, but Master Jacobaeus had influence and was definitely somebody to keep on side.

Otherwise things were going rather well, which made the problems with the club far easier to cope with. He'd slept with Michelle every night since the first, indulging their fantasies together in a dozen subtle variations of a similar theme, all focused on her glorious bottom. The spanking party also looked likely to be well attended, although it was never possible to be sure exactly who was going to turn up until the night itself. With public venues temporarily out of bounds, they had decided that the next spanking party would take place that night in Violet's apartment. As the party began at 8:00pm, Peter found himself at a loose end for the afternoon.

Leaning out over the balustrade, he wondered idly what it would be like to fall in and how he would cope if he did, only to pull back at a sudden touch of vertigo. A man was approaching, short, stocky, with thinning blond hair, dressed in a well-tailored suit and a somewhat loud tie, his expression worried, perhaps thinking that Peter was about to jump from the bridge. He seemed familiar somehow.

“Ben Thompson?” Peter queried. “Surely not! It's me, Finch.”

The man paused, his expression shifting to surprise and irritation, then pleasure as recognition finally came.

“Peter Finch! So it is!”

Both paused, embarrassed, grinning at one another but unsure what to say, a silence finally broken by Peter.

“What are you doing here, and dressed for the City? I thought you'd be running the farm?”

“No, no, we sold up years ago. I'm in Whitehall.”

“Congratulations. What's become of the old crowd? Do you still keep in touch?”

“Well, you know about Daniel Stewart, obviously, rising star of the House, a fixture in the cabinet and all that. Gabriel Howard's not far behind, although he nearly lost his seat in 'eighty-seven. Clive Sumner is in the Home Office, and not doing badly at all. We meet regularly, at Lorrimer's, which is about the only half-decent club left in James'. Actually, you should join us next time, see all the old faces.”

“Would I be welcome?” Peter queried.

“Of course! You were one of us, after all. We'd all love to see you again. How about yourself, what have you been up to?”

“I run clubs,” Peter answered, unable to admit to being a cab driver. “Although not the St. James' sort.”

“Oh, yes? Lucrative, I imagine, these big rave parties?”

“No, not raves …”

He paused, torn between discretion and a desperate need to impress the man whose life had been so much more successful than his own. Vanity won the contest in under a second.

“… rather more intimate clubs, if you follow,” he continued. “It's a risky business, but a lot of fun. We were raided by the police last week.”
5

“Raided?”

“Yes. It's a risk you run, unfortunately. They took all my equipment, everything.”

“Equipment?” Ben queried.

“Oh you know, spanking stools, a pillory, my St. Andrew's Cross, the whole lot.”

“Good heavens, you haven't changed, have you! Did you get arrested?”

“No. I take precautions. That's one lesson I did manage to learn at Broadfields. It was a close call though.”

“Do you know why they raided you?”

“No, although my guess is there are one or two fairly senior local officers who don't like other people having fun. Of course they'll say they're trying to clean up the area, but that's what it boils down to, prudishness.”

“Hard luck all the same. Will you carry on?”

“I don't give in that easily, but I may have to take a break. I only wish I knew who was behind the raid, then at least I could plan accordingly. If it was just a local decision I can probably find a venue in another borough. But if the orders came from higher up I might have to go outside London altogether. Sorry, Ben, I'm thinking aloud.”

“Not at all. I have to admit I'm fascinated. Look, I'll have a quiet word with Clive next time I see him at the club. He can find out that sort of thing.”

“That's very kind of you, Ben, but you mustn't take risks …”

“Not at all. I'm only too glad to be able to help you out. Besides, I was the big mouth who let it slip to that awful boy Gardiner that Head Girls at St. Monica's weren't really allowed to dish out punishment spankings.”

“Ah, yes, I'd quite forgotten that, and I suppose it might have made a difference. Thank you. Do you know what became of Gardiner, by the way?”

“Yes. He went into MI5 and managed to get himself involved in one of these complicated spy capers, probably as a double agent, if rumor is to be believed. The Russians shot him, eventually.”

“Sensible chaps, the Russians. In fact, that calls for a shot or two of a decent vodka. Can I tempt you?”

“Yes,” Ben agreed. “Why not?”

A brief walk found them seated in the cellar bar of a quiet pub, double measures of Stolichnaya in hand as they returned to their reminiscences.

“How about the others?” Peter asked. “Richards? Rackman? I've lost touch completely, and as you can imagine I don't get invited to the reunions.”

“Well, no, I don't suppose you would. Stephen Richards is out in Australia, managing one of the big, opencast mines run by his uncle's company, but then he was always going to do well. Hunter did a spell in the USAF, then went into diplomacy, if you can imagine that.”

“Tact was never his strong point, but he'd certainly fly the flag for the States. None of you seem to have done badly.”

“No, we're … oh, sorry. I mean to say, I don't suppose it's been easy for you? It was very gentlemanly of you not to give us all away that time, you know.”

“It was a question of honor, but it wouldn't have made any real difference. The police had already been called in, so it was out of old Porter's hands. I got six months.”

“I heard. Sorry. So, uh … what happened to that juicy little thing who used to like to be spanked? What a peach, eh?”

“If you mean Tiffany Lange, the whole thing came to rather a sorry end.”

“Oh … frightfully sorry. I didn't mean to …”

“Not at all,” Peter laughed. “It was probably for the best really. She was lovely, but her family were appalling. I'd have married her, happily, but they took her out of St. Monica's and hustled her off to some distant cousins in Ireland. That was the last I heard of her for ages, and I only knew that much because her friend Charlotte managed to get a letter out to me.”

“Bad show, old chap” Ben commiserated.

“It didn't do a lot to cheer me up while I was inside, that's for sure. When I got out I managed to contact Lottie again.”

“The bouncy little blonde. I remember her.”

“That's Lottie. She told me Tiffany had married a man named O'Neil, an engineer of some sort I think, and was living in Dublin. I felt it best not to get involved, but I kept in touch with Lottie for a few years, until she got married in turn and decided I was too disreputable to keep as a friend, or more likely the new husband did. By then Tiffany had a daughter, Rhiannon, but that's all I know.”

“I don't suppose it's much consolation,” Ben replied, “but you gave us some cherished memories, especially the Great St. Monica's Spanking Show. It's good to look back, now we're all so bloody respectable. You seem to have made quite a decent life for yourself, an exciting one anyway.”

“It could be worse,” Peter admitted, “and no offence, but I'd hate to be in your shoes, never mind Daniel's or Gabriel's. Okay, they may be running the county in a few years, but to be under constant public scrutiny. I couldn't stand it.”

“They've made their sacrifices, true,” Ben admitted. “But that's life. Nostrovia!”

Both men swallowed their vodka and Ben went to the bar to fetch refills. Peter's mood had begun to mellow with the vodka and the nostalgic conversation, which Ben picked up again as soon as he'd sat down.

“That was an extraordinary show you put on for us that night,” he stated, shaking his head and smiling. “Six beautiful girls, all in a line. I've never seen anything like it since.”

“You must have been to cabarets, strip bars perhaps?” Peter asked.

“Very seldom,” Ben replied. “Besides, it's not the same. I remember a place in Paris, with a chorus line of real beauties, twenty-four in all, dressed in the sweetest little military uniforms you ever saw; short skirts, little tight tops. It was a fine show, don't get me wrong. They even took off each other's knickers, like the St. Monica's girls were made to do, and for the finalé the whole line bent over and flipped their skirts up; twenty-four bare bottoms all in a row, on parade, and twenty-four pretty little pussies as an added bonus.”

“Impressive,” Peter admitted. “But these French places have the budget.”

“No doubt they do, but it still wasn't a patch on the St. Monica's show. I don't know why, but it wasn't.”

“I know why. It was safe. There was no thrill, no sense of the forbidden, no sense of conquest.”

Ben nodded sagely and Peter carried on.

“One of my greatest regrets is that we didn't get to see all six girls dealt with, thanks to that idiot Gardiner, and Jupp, and Tinknell. What a bunch of clowns!”

“They went into the army, both Tinknell and Jupp, I think.”

“Then the army has my deepest sympathy. Think what we missed. That little brat Christine Arlington didn't even get it properly. Once she'd been dealt with it would have been Tiffany's turn, then Lottie, and last of all Alice. I know she would've been left until last because she was the most embarrassed out of all the girls, and Vicky Trent was a sadistic bitch—still is presumably.”

“We saw plenty though, all six bare bums and three in detail.”

“Yes, but we missed out on the spankings.”

“What is it with you and spanking!” Ben laughed.

“I seem to remember you enjoying the show I put on with Tiffany,” Peter answered.

“Oh yes, it was a glorious view. But I'd have been happy just to see her strip, and the others. Wouldn't it have been easier to arrange a game of strip poker, or that game where you spin a bottle around and the loser gets a forfeit?”

“Probably not,” Peter explained. “The thing you have to remember about spanking, especially with Catholic girls, is that it's a punishment. If they agree to a spanking they can tell themselves it's something they deserve for bad behavior, atonement for their sins if you like. They don't have to admit that it turns them on, not even to themselves.”

“My wife's a bit like that,” Ben said after a moment to digest Peter's statement. “She always has to have an excuse, being a little tipsy usually. She can never just do it because she likes it. She'd never let me spank her though, not in a million years.”

“That's a shame,” Peter replied, “and her loss as much as yours. I think every woman should be able to enjoy a good spanking from time to time. Now Tiffany, at least she knew what she liked, but she was still thoroughly ashamed of herself. Christine Arlington couldn't really handle it at all, despite the fact that she was dripping like a tap, which is why she was so furious, or part of the reason in any case. We'd discovered her shameful secret, you see.”

“She was a sight to be seen, no mistake!” Ben exclaimed.

“Wasn't she just! I do wish Vicky Trent had finished her off properly, the way she did Emerald, spanking her until she broke down, or not. Perhaps she'd have got turned on, the way the Princess Ayanna did …”

Ben's eyes grew wide. “You saw the Princess Ayanna spanked!?”

“By Vicky Trent, on the fateful night. The princess needed to have her excuse too, but she ended up letting Tiffs masturbate her while she got it from Vicky. Now
that
was fine.”

“I'll say!”

“You see, different girls react differently to spankings, but it always brings out the emotion in them, and that's what I like. Now Katie Vale just let herself go, an absolutely natural, uninhibited reaction to punishment. While my favorite playmate at present, Michelle, likes it to be as sexual possible. But yes, I regret that all six girls didn't get their spankings, especially Charlotte and Alice. I did catch them together in a sixty-nine, though, the night I got caught. But, for me, it's not the same without a good hearty spanking.”

“You really are obsessed!”

“I admit it, freely. You should come to tonight's club, you know. There'll be five girls, every bit as beautiful as the St. Monica's girls, if rather less innocent. Michelle's an absolute poppet, small and blonde and full of life, with a bottom like a ripe peach. Or if you like 'em tall and slim there's Violet, who prefers to dish it out but usually gives in before the end of the night. And we've got Tia. She's Jamaican and a lot of fun, gorgeous too, if you like plenty of curves. Spanking her is quite a challenge. And there's Davina, who's half-Japanese and like a beautiful porcelain doll. And there's a new girl, Sophie, who seems very promising.”

“You do live life to the full, I'll give you that! I couldn't possible come though, I …”

“You wouldn't be out of place. We have plenty of professional men, teachers mostly for some reason, but a couple of lawyers, a senior cardiologist, even a colonel, although he's retired.”